


A Private Concert

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M, in the concert hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: "Kimura--" Nakai tilts his head back and makes an undignified noise as the kiss he was trying to avoid lands on his throat instead. "--are you seriously proposing to fuck me in the middle of theconcert hall?"(Rated M for non-explicit sex and swearing. Inspired by Kimura filming Nakai's solo rehearsal back in 2010, and enabled by fangirl flailing with hereticpop<3)





	A Private Concert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hereticpop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/gifts).



 

"Let's sneak into the concert hall," Kimura says to Nakai, teeth flashing in a conspiratorial grin. It makes Nakai think of high school, climbing fences and running full tilt in headlong freedom, and that is probably why he agrees; by the time he has second thoughts about it, they're slipping past the security guard, Kimura's hand on his wrist pulling them through a door into darkness, held breaths let out in a burst of exhilarated laughter.

They wind their way through the backstage maze half by muscle memory, half by the light of Kimura's cell phone, and step out onto the stage. It's like being swallowed up in darkness, at least at first-- Kimura catches Nakai's wrist again, _over here_ , and by the time his bandmate pulls him to their destination his eyes have adjusted enough to make out the details of the concert hall. They're on the round center stage, the one he starts his solo on, the one Kimura snuck onto to film him rehearsing not too long ago, a grin on his face like _he_ was the one dancing his heart out. Somehow, he's not surprised Kimura's brought him here again.

"I'm not gonna dance for you," he grumbles, squinting at Kimura as he crouches down over his phone. The other man looks up, faintly illuminated by the screen, and smirks as the opening bars of Nakai's concert-version solo begin to play. "You want me to dance it instead?"

It takes a few more threats-- not that Kimura would do a bad job of it, no, he'd do an irritatingly  _good_  job of it and it's _Nakai's_  solo, dammit-- before Nakai finally gives in. He focuses on the music coming from the tinny phone speaker and lets himself move to the rhythm that is engrained in his body, that has been engrained in his heart since he stared rapturously at a TV screen and saw what it meant to _dance_. Kimura watches, eyes alight and mouth agrin, moving from a crouch to his knees to a delighted sprawl as if lost in the music and dance himself.

Nakai stops when the actual song starts, reaching down to hit the pause button and collapsing onto his butt to catch his breath. "Satisfied?" he pants, leaning back on his arms and gazing up at the darkened ceiling of the dome.

He doesn't get a chance to stare at it for long, because Kimura peels himself off the floor only to plop right back down between Nakai's knees and plant his hands on either side of him, looking straight into his face. "You're amazing," he says, and kisses him.

Kisses from Kimura are not, in themselves, a new thing; normally, however, they come behind locked hotel room doors and not in the middle of giant concert halls, empty or no.

"We're on _stage_ ," he hisses to his bandmate, glancing around at the sea of darkened seats. Just imagine if there were _people_  in them...

"Haven't you ever thought about what it would be like?" Kimura pulls back just enough to give him another grin, high on both music and mischief. "They'd probably cheer, you know."

It doesn't take much imagination to know that by _it_ Kimura doesn't just mean kissing. Nakai glares, although it doesn't seem to be very effective in the dark. "We'd be _arrested_."

Kimura, undeterred, catches the corner of his mouth in another kiss. "We'll have to settle for the next best thing, then."

"Kimura--" Nakai tilts his head back and makes an undignified noise as the kiss he was trying to avoid lands on his throat instead. "--are you seriously proposing to fuck me in the middle of the  _concert hall_?"

Kimura lifts his head from Nakai's neck, and no wonder Nakai can never meet his bandmate's eye normally when  _this_  is the kind of look Kimura gives him in private. "Can I?" he murmurs, mischief fading into something softer and more serious.

Nakai bites his lip under that look, the two of them a tiny island of blue light in the darkness blanketing the hall. His wrists are starting to complain about this position; either he shoves Kimura off in order to sit up, or...

He wraps a hand around the base of Kimura's neck and pulls them both down into a less-than-graceful sprawl on the stage. "You'd better make it worth it," he says, tangling his other hand into Kimura's hair to return kiss for kiss.

"Absolutely," his bandmate replies against his lips, the hand not braced next to Nakai's head slipping under his shirt to slide up the bare skin of his stomach. It's not an idle promise; Kimura always makes it worth it.

Kimura also makes short work of their clothes-- Nakai spares a thought between kisses to hope that nothing ends up off-stage-- and then there are no more thoughts to be spared as Kimura opens him up, one slick finger at a time.

"You really _are_ amazing," Kimura tells him, breath short even though Nakai's the one he's busy making come apart at the seams. "We all wanted to be him, back then. But you," he leans down to kiss Nakai's stomach, for emphasis or just on a whim, "you actually did it. And you're absolutely," he presses his lips to that bare skin again, "fucking," and this time does something with his fingers that makes Nakai arch up, " _perfect_."

Nakai grabs a handful of Kimura's hair, yanking him up for a rough, breathless kiss. "Then hurry up and _fuck_  me already."

Kimura is more than happy to oblige, abandoning words in favor of more creative uses of his mouth, hands and hips working together in blissful crescendoing cadence. Nakai trails his own praises across Kimura's back, _you're the one who's perfect, you're the one who's hot and filthy and fucking fantastic_ , as if the words will somehow sink into Kimura's skin through his fingertips alone. He certainly hopes so; there's no way in hell he'd ever say those things aloud.

And then that crescendo is at its peak and Kimura is sucking in his breath like he's trying not to come first-- but Kimura never manages to hold back, he's swept up by sex just as by music, body moving where desire takes it-- and that's always what pushes Nakai over the edge, anyway.

"Ah--  _fuck--_ " Kimura tosses his head back and comes, moaning into the vast, open space of the hall around them. It might be barely a whisper to that darkness but the sound fills Nakai's senses, pooling in his stomach and resonating in his groin, bringing him to sweet, sharp release in his bandmate's arms-- and for a moment the entire space is theirs and theirs alone, filled from stage to stand with utter perfection.

Kimura looks down at Nakai, giving him that same euphoric grin from his rehearsal. "Told you it'd be good."

Nakai untangles his arms from around his bandmate, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching in return. "You just get off on being an exhibitionist."

"And you get off on _me_ getting off," Kimura replies, dropping another kiss on Nakai's lips. "Wanna do it again in Osaka?"

Nakai doesn't dignify _that_  with a response until they've found their clothes and wound their way backstage and slipped past the security guard back out into the warm night air. "Maybe," he says, exhilaration catching up with him the way being with Kimura always leaves him, and gives his bandmate a tiny, conspiratorial smile before looking away again. "But next time _you're_  dancing for _me._ "


End file.
